


Another Life

by Silikat



Category: BioShock, BioShock Infinite
Genre: F/M, Mirrored from ff.net
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1416319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silikat/pseuds/Silikat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Returning would mean giving up part of us. Ourselves. We'd become flesh, and all that it is heir to. The mysteries of the universe would become once again...mysteries.' But what if the Luteces had decided to stay? To become mortal once more, and live normal lives, unaware of who they really are? (Mirrored from ff.net.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Life

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I don't really ship Lutecest. Sure, the dynamic is interesting and I love their relationship. But I never really shipped it, particularly. So when this idea came into my brain and onto the page, I was as surprised as anyone! So, inspired by Rosalind's Burial At Sea Episode Two voxophone, here's my attempt at some adorable Luteces. Enjoy, and don't be afraid to review! Criticism is always appreciated.
> 
> Disclaimer: Bioshock and the Luteces do not belong to me. If they did, I probably wouldn't need student loans, for one.

**Another Life**

The afternoon sun was high in the sky above New Eden Square, casting light across the tranquil streets and majestic views of Columbia’s welcoming centre. People, dressed in their Sunday best, milled about the streets in celebration, excitable children waving banners and dragging their exhausted parents behind them. But even then, the feel in the air was electric, with even the most sombre citizens taking the day to relax and enjoy themselves. Today was a big day for Columbia. It was, after all, the anniversary. Thirty years and still flying. It may have been the city of the future, but it still had a history to celebrate.

Through the sunlit streets, four figures in near-matching clothing strolled down towards that iconic sight – the famous statue of the Angel of Columbia. The two adults, hands gently clasped together, watched with identical smiles as their red-haired children scampered ahead of them towards the Fair, their legs sped on with the enthusiasm of youth. There was a slight frown of concern on the man’s face; no parent ever feels truly safe when their child is slipping away from them, but Columbia was truly a safe city. Paradise on Earth, as all of the advertisements said. A true miracle of modern society that any man would want to live in. Or, indeed, any woman.

It had been eleven years since the then-newlywed Robert and Rosalind Lutece had answered Columbia’s call. Eleven years, and the couple were still not even sure what had started it. Everything in their lives had just been a whirl until that moment that they found themselves in the Garden of New Eden, being resoundingly welcomed into Columbia by none other than its respected leader, the prophet Zachary Hale Comstock. Sure, they remembered the general situation – the letter from Comstock asking for their aid as noted physicists, their reply, eager to modify whatever discoveries had been made to create a flying city, the trip to Columbia on some sort of flying pod – but the specifics were just a happy blur. It was as though their lives before Columbia hadn’t even existed.

Not that it mattered, really. After all, their Columbian lives proved far more entertaining than whatever it was they were doing below. After about a month up here, they had worked their way to the top of the pile in the physics field, jointly in charge of all scientific works in Columbia. Comstock had been ecstatic, labelling the pair ‘the finest minds in Columbia’ and even confided in them that, before they came, there were concerns that Columbia wasn’t going to remain flying for another year. Now, thanks to them, it could keep going for another hundred.

One of the children came careering down the street, her red plait bobbing behind her as she ran. The boy followed close behind, holding on to his cap with one hand to keep it from flying off his head.

“Mother! Father!” the girl cried out, her pouting face the picture of childish annoyance. Catching up to her, the boy slyly pinched his sister on the arm, causing her to cry out indignantly and glare at him. The twins came to a stop before their amused parents, their irritated poses mirroring each other, as they often found themselves doing.

“Rosemary was disproving my theories again!” the boy blurted out first, causing his sister to gasp in anger.

“Was not!” she retaliated. “Besides, they’re inherently flawed anyway. If you-“

“Children.” With a cough, Rosalind interrupted her children, causing them to lapse into a sulky silence. “Bickering will get you nowhere.” Robert smirked, evidently remembering all of the times that the pair had definitely ignored that piece of advice.

Giving him a snide look, she turned to the boy. “Now, Ronald, what have we told you about disregarding your sister’s advice?”

Scowling, the boy scuffed his feet on the floor, moodily repeating the words that had been hammered into him from a young age. “Don’t ignore legitimate criticism, even if it comes from your sister.”

“Good,” Now Rosalind’s attention was fixed on the girl, who seemed more interested in the exact patterning of the floor than her mother. “And Rosemary, what have we told you about arrogance?”

The girl sighed in an exaggerated manner. “Just because I think I’m right doesn’t mean I am.”

Rosalind nodded, satisfied. “Now, I expect you to discuss the matter _calmly_ , and tell your father and I about your findings later. Understood?”

“Yes, mother,” the twins chorused.

“Off you go, then.” At their dismissal, the twins bounded off again in the direction of the fair, no doubt to seek out the closest person who was selling cotton candy. Robert smiled at his wife, a twinkle of amusement in his eye. Eleven years living together as husband and wife, and although she’d chide him for the sentimentality, he wouldn’t have traded a day of it.

“Enjoy the fair!” he called after the twins’ retreating backs. “And don’t get into any more trouble!” Their almost-identical voices called a quick affirmation back to him, before the children’s backs disappeared around a corner, melting into silhouettes against the bright alley. Alone at last, he slipped his arm into his wife’s, the pair sharing a coy smile as they began to walk together.

Robert was the first to speak, running his other hand idly through his greying red hair, beneath the neat brown trilby that he had taken to wearing. “It is a beautiful day,” he proclaimed with a grin, causing his long-suffering wife to roll her eyes sardonically.

“I’d rather be inside,” she commented, deadpan. “We’re getting so close to something, you know!” That was typical Rosalind. She was always the most scientifically-inclined of the pair, ready and willing to spend hours on end cooped up in the front rooms of their Emporia home, the ones they had long ago converted into a makeshift personal lab. Robert was always there with her too, of course he was, but she was the one who could stay there uninterrupted from dawn until sunset. Her husband, however, needed a breather every now and again, mostly when the children needed calling in from their outside play, or picking up from school.

“I know, my dear,” he chuckled, giving her arm a squeeze. “But the children did insist, and you have to admit that the parade is splendid.”

“It has to be. We’re behind most of the floats,” The parade was unlike anything they had seen down below – for one, parades on Earth were hardly ever made of airships. And indeed, as they walked, one of the floats began to fly past them on a nearby channel, bearing a colourful painting of the Angel of Columbia and the emblem ‘God Bless Comstock, God Bless Columbia And God Bless America!’ Rosalind smiled as she watched it pass; she had been the one to personally install the Lutece Particle in that particular float, ensuring it would stay airborne for at least another year. It may be a small thing, but it was still a monument to their scientific prowess as much as religion and patriotism.

Her husband raised a finger in the air, as if addressing a crowd. “Nothing floats in Columbia without our say!” he boomed cheerily, and she stifled a smirk.

“Are you being cute?” she asked, cocking her head at him.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He began to laugh, but stopped as he saw Rosalind’s expression. All the colour had drained from her face, leaving her pale and shaking even in the warmth of the afternoon. She even stopped walking for a second, pretending that she was doing up a loose button on her forest-green waistcoat. But he could see her hands fumbling, and was quickly at her side, a low note of concern creeping into his voice. “Are you alright?”

“Yes…sorry.” She smiled at him with thin lips, her eyes glassy. “Headache.”

“Are they back?” His concern was only deepening. Ever since they had come to Columbia, the Luteces had been racked with a strange illness that nobody seemed to be able to cure – nosebleeds, headaches, frequent confusion and strange dreams haunted their every step in the city above the sky. As they had become more prominent in the scientific community, they had sought out Columbia’s best doctors to find out the source, but nothing had come of it. He had thought they were dwindling over the last few years. Evidently, this was just wishful thinking.

“Annoyingly so, yes.” Rosalind pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance. She didn’t like the feeling of helplessness that this illness seemed to cause, and he didn’t blame her. It wasn’t nice to wake up not knowing who or where you were, or lose yourself in uncertainty when just walking down the street.

Attempting to brighten the mood, he took her arm again. “Perhaps the cure is good weather and a walk to the fair.”

“If it was, they’d have gone years ago.”

“Quite.” Robert shrugged, looking to the lights and colour of the fair in the distance. “Perhaps we should find our wayward children,” he mused, glancing at his wife. She nodded.

“Alright. But if Ronald’s dismantling the attractions again, I blame you.”

“I think that one was as much your fault as mine.”

“That is very much debatable.”

*

Later that night, when the colour and noise of the celebrations had dwindled into nothing and the God-fearing folks of Columbia had retreated once more to their homes, the clocks struck ten. For the Lutece children, that meant bedtime. Despite Ronald’s insistence that he and Rosemary were close to a breakthrough, and Rosemary’s wheedling that the twins could help their parents if they stayed awake, Robert had to insist that the pair of them get some sleep already.

“Besides,” he said, ushering them upstairs. “We’re testing the new prototype tomorrow morning, and I assume you’ll want to be awake for that, won’t you?” It was an instant mind-changer for the twins, who grinned identically and raced each other upstairs, their goodnight calls to their mother barely audible over the clattering of their feet.

When they had gone, Rosalind smiled, casting her eyes back down to her work. They tended to take it in turns to put the children to bed, mostly because they were usually working on something vital that they couldn’t stop. Neither Rosemary nor Ronald seemed to mind; in fact, the children encouraged it, given their shared aptitude for physics. One day when she and Robert were old and grey, Rosalind thought, those children were going to be running Lutece Labs all by themselves, and probably doing a better job into the bargain. Not that she was complaining. The children were already far better successors than any of the imbeciles who worked under the Luteces, and they were only nine years old.

She had to admit, she had been initially dubious about the idea of having a child. They had been married just over a year, and Robert was beginning to lean towards the idea of fatherhood. She wasn’t so sure. Children were a burden, who could say that they would turn out well – or indeed, that they would both be able to care for a child and continue their vital research? Not to mention the toll it would take on her ability to work. But Ronald and Rosemary, unexpected though they might have been, had brought them mostly delight. Sure, there had been long nights with no sleep, compromises made and grievances aired. But the children had turned out well, and all four of them were happy. Despite her misgivings, things had turned out well.

Rosalind sighed, reaching up to her bookshelves for one of their books, published just before they had come to Columbia; _The Principles of Quantum Mechanics_. It was one of the dustier tomes in their collection, given that they had written it and therefore never needed to consult it for reference. As she heaved it down off the shelf, however, something fell out of the back and onto her desk, landing neatly before her. It was a yellowing envelope, with a single world elegantly penned on its surface. That word was Rosalind, and it was in her handwriting.

Unable to contain her curiosity, she picked the envelope up, turning it over in her hands. There was no doubt about it; the writing was hers. Even though her husband seemed to have remarkably similar handwriting, it couldn’t be from him – his writing leaned slightly to the left, while hers listed to the right. Besides, he would have mentioned it by now if the letter was from him. No, it was almost definitely written by her. But how? She certainly would have remembered putting an envelope in this book, never mind, that

Turning it once more, she slid a thumb under the slot, neatly breaking the seal and opening the envelope. Inside was a letter, similarly yellow with age and covered in her neat script. But it wasn’t until she started to read that her mind really began to race.

_Rosalind,_

_You’re not going to remember writing this note to yourself. I imagine it’s something of a difficult process, trading omniscience and solitude for mundanity and community. I don’t exactly envy your position, although really that point will be moot by the time you read this. Therefore, I shall endeavour to inform you, as briefly as I can, on everything you will have forgotten. How much of it you will believe is up to you._

_Neither you nor Robert are of this universe; nor, in fact, are you from the same universe as each other. I assume you’ve kept some degree of knowledge from our previous physics career, otherwise I’d assure you to stop reading now, since you’re obviously no longer me. The theory that there are multiple universes is in fact correct – I have travelled through many of them in my time, each one more tedious than the last. We took means to place you in one of the more benign ones, by the way, for ease of living. This Comstock is rather less the fanatic he was in our universe, and Columbia on the whole seems a rather more amiable place than the one we knew. And not doomed to civil war and chaos, which does make a pleasant change._

_In our universe, we died. You may have a vague memory of our old inventions, the Lutece Field and the Lutece Tear. The latter was sabotaged, and we were killed in the explosion. This, as you may have gathered, didn’t exactly hinder us. We became unfixed in time and space, drifting between causality, able to see every eventuality and influence things where we could._

_And yet, we chose to give it up. Robert and I…we began to grow uneasy with our undead state. Robert began to pine for our old existence, but the sacrifices we had to endure…nevertheless, the decision was made. We would become ordinary. Or, to put it another way, we would become you._

_I am not entirely sure how this is going to work – this is rather an unprecedented field, after all. At least we know it is possible, given the fate of one version of Comstock. We have theorised that we shall experience something similar to the dissonance that Robert and DeWitt felt when they crossed universes. We will likely lose all memory of our Columbia, and our experiences here. Everything we have done, and everything we have learned here, just gone. Still, it has been consigned as an…acceptable loss. Anything for a quiet life, as Robert has said._

_You may also experience said dissonance episodes, come to think of it. Common symptoms are dizziness, nosebleeds and headaches, as well as a state of confusion and déjà vu. It’s up to you whether or not you focus on the memories. I have no idea how much you will want to remember of my current life. I know that trying to remember who you were will lead to more dissonance, while accepting your new memories will integrate you with your new existence. It is possible to retain your old memories, but not without some difficulty – DeWitt certainly didn’t integrate it well – and I don’t know how well it will work given our…unusual state. Even leaving this note for you risks your mental health. But I would want to know my origins, and so here we are. I assume you share that sentiment. I’d rather not know of the universe where my scientific curiosity is non-existent._

_The two of you should be able to live comfortably. This version of Columbia exists as a fiftieth state of American for 102 years before it disbanded. We did exist here – we died, in a similar fashion, though this version of us went virtually unnoticed throughout Columbia, so you don’t have to worry about being mysteriously resurrected. Robert and I have taken pains to give us a normal existence; as much as we can, anyway. Hopefully, it is strong enough to hold._

_You can choose whether or not you inform Robert of this. Or indeed, whether or not you believe me. I should hope so. You’d be a fool not to, in my opinion, and I do hope something of me has remained in your brain._

_All that’s left to say is ‘good luck’. Try to have a fulfilling existence. I’d hate to think this has gone to waste._

_Rosalind_

There was silence for a moment. Rosalind stared at the age-stained paper, her mind reeling from the knowledge within.

“Robert!” she called, her voice echoing through the near-silent house. After a moment, her husband’s head appeared around the stairs, wearing a confused expression. “Come here,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm so he wouldn’t worry. But her husband was nothing if not perceptive, and came instantly down the stairs, giving her a quizzical look.

“What do you make of this?” she asked, handing him the note with shaking hands. “I found it in this book, it just fell out.” Robert took the letter, frown deepening with every word he read. His eyes scanned the page; once, twice, three times, and each with a growing sense of unease. And, perhaps, comprehension? There was something like it on his face, although what exactly it was she could not tell. It was as if the Robert she knew so well had vanished for a moment, replaced with this familiar stranger whose face was so unreadable.

“…puzzling,” he said finally, scratching his chin with his free hand. “Certainly very puzzling.”

“Plausible?”

“Perhaps. It rather depends.”

She scoffed. “On what?”

“It’s this part that’s particularly perplexing.” He indicated the passage about the infinite universes, sharing a glance with his wife. As physicists, they had both pondered the existence of other universes, their speculations laden with both scientific accuracy and good-natured jabs at each other.

“Positively ponderous.”

“Precisely!” Robert’s omnipresent smile had returned, and he thrust a finger into the air to punctuate his point.

“But silliness aside…” She leaned forward to scan the letter again, her eyes darting across the now-familiar words. Even the one sounded like her. Either this letter was a real, or there was an expert forger loose in Columbia.

As though he could read her thoughts, Robert looked across at her, his expression pensive. “Are you sure you didn’t write this?”

She shrugged. “It claims to be me. And it is my handwriting.”

“But you didn’t write it.”

“Not to my memory.”

“I’d dismiss it as nonsense were it not for that…” He tapped the paper with a long finger, frowning deeply. “And this.”

“What’s that, husband?” She squinted back at the paper, suddenly realising how dim the light was in their lab.

“The description of dissonance.” Robert drew back, hand flying once more to his head to scratch his greying russet hair, a gesture he often made when deep in thought. Rosalind raised her eyebrows.

“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” she said, tapping her pen against her lower lip, and he nodded.

“Nosebleeds, headaches…”

“Confusion…”

“We never could find a reason for that illness.”

“And indeed, it persists.”

“Especially when we’re mulling over our pasts.” Robert’s voice was slow and soft, almost a murmur, barely audible over the hum of machines in their lab. They were both thinking it at this point, each just vocalising what the other had already concluded.

“Before Columbia. And indeed, before the date of this letter.”

“What?”

“Here. Look.” She pointed to the top-left corner. Scrawled there, in smaller writing, was a date. _July the 6 th,1912._

“The day we arrived…” Robert mused, staring at the words until they blurred before his eyes. He blinked, rubbing them before looking back to his flustered wife. “A link?”

“Possibly. It sounds a little more than mere coincidence.”

“It also seems ludicrous.” Her scepticism wasn’t just a knee-jerk reaction. They may have been brilliant, but transdimensional travel was impossible. Even the most advanced modern sciences couldn’t even conceive of a way in which it could be possible! And that was assuming that other universes even existed.

 _Although_ , a small part of her mind interrupted, wistful in its narcissism, _if there was anyone who could do it, it would be you._

“True.” From his melancholy expression, she could tell that his thoughts had drifted the same way. “But it also makes an odd sort of sense.”

They stood in silence for a while, each contemplating all that they had found inexplicable about their lives. The dreams. The flashbacks to events neither of them recalled. The voices, calling to them in the night. The references they sometimes made to things that weren’t real, history that never was, people they hadn’t met. If this letter told the truth…but it couldn’t. There was no way they would have given up that knowledge. A chance at infinity, and for what? A cosy lab and a nuclear family? No. That seemed wrong, somehow.

It was Rosalind that broke the silence. “So what are we going to do?”

“Do? We do nothing.”

“And why’s that?” She was indignant, her eyes afire with the possibility of new discoveries. Didn’t he understand what this meant? Confirmation of infinite universes, and an already-travelled path between. If they could just open their minds once more, turn the key of their past lives, think of how many possibilities they could open! They would be gods, she and Robert, gods of a new realm as-yet unexplored by the common man.

But Robert’s eyes were full of a strange sorrow, and for a moment Rosalind didn’t think that she could have felt further from her husband. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, and the words hung in the air like an accusation.

“Doesn’t-!” she spluttered, barely able to believe her ears. Was this the same Robert she had married, the young physicist with a mind full of potential and the inspiration to reach the stars? She stared at him, wide-eyed, as he calmly slid the letter back into its envelope and placed it on the desk, shoving his hands back into his trouser pockets and gazing into the firelight.

“How does it affect us?” he began, his voice still calm and measured. “If it was something we could do, we can’t now. And those inventions the letter mentions – who says we can’t make them here and now? But we can’t induce these glimpses of our potential past, my dear, no more than we can become who we once were.”

She scowled, unwilling to concede defeat. “If these memories are true, then we can use them. Harness them, even!”

“Exactly!” His eyes burned with passion once more, but she could still sense the reluctance that simmered below. “But we can do no more than that. It isn’t possible.”

“But Robert…what have we given up?” She shook her head, mind reeling. “Travelling through universes, seeing infinite possibilities…”

Rosalind closed her eyes, and the universe beneath her eyelids. Stars spun in the void, shining down on her – infinite worlds, she knew, and an infinite amount of Rosalinds and Roberts. Then the stars were gone, replaced by a machine in a dark room, crackling with energy and potential, a grey mass opening in its centre. Through it stepped a girl, brown hair cut short and swishing around her shoulders, and a man with hands red with the blood of thousands. She had seen them before, she knew, but every time she opened her eyes they vanished, like ghosts fading into the fog of memory. Even now, the corners of the image were beginning to vanish. The room shrank, mist rolling in over the shadows until all she could see was the accusing stare of the girl’s blue eyes, staring into her own with an unflinching certainty. Then they were gone, and all was black once more.

She opened her eyes to see his soft expression, his eyes full of worry. His hands were on her shoulders as though they were about to embrace, his mouth twisted into a soft grin.

“Even if that was true once, it’s not now,” he said, his voice low.

Rosalind shuddered, chill running though her like ice. Habitually, she placed a finger to her nose. No blood, but it was the same feeling. “Do you feel that too?” she asked, noting her husband’s greying complexion and stricken look.

“As though I’d forgotten something,” he said, his voice distant.

“Something important,” she agreed. Surely this was a sign. The Rosalind that had written the letter was still there, locked inside her mind, ready to be unleashed in a whirl of inspiration, of knowledge mysterious and unknown by mortals. If anyone could do it, they could. “The letter said that regaining memories wasn’t impossible…”

Robert was frowning again, shaking his head at her sadly. “At the price of your brain? Surely you, of all people, would want to retain that.”

“Maybe,” she said, but she sounded unconvinced.

“No.” He stepped forward, kissing his wife gently on the forehead. “If we see anything buildable, then we shall by all means build it. But we cannot go chasing this, Rosalind.”

“Why not?”

“Because we don’t need it. We’re here, Rosalind. We’re happy. And as long as we’re together, we shall remain that way.”

As much as his words warmed her heart, she couldn’t help smirking at them. “Don’t get sentimental on me, husband.”

“I mean it, wife.” He was smiling too, that gentle grin she had grown to know and love. “Infinite universes can go hang for all I care. All I need is right here with me.”

Their hands entwined, twin rings twinkling in the low light. He cupped her face in his hand, and she studied his face in the gloom of the lab. His eyes were soft, and her smile broadened as she leaned in to kiss him properly.

Maybe there were other worlds out there. Maybe not. That remained to be seen, in the months and years that would follow. But they were together, and she was content. And in the end, wasn’t that all that mattered?


End file.
